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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29280162">Enemy of the Nation</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/rokosourobouros/pseuds/rokosourobouros'>rokosourobouros</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Lux Sanguinum, Nox Animorum [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>(Which is not NEARLY as bad as you think it is! just the terms used), (Which is not to say that I am dwelling on it), Ableism, Alternate Universe - Character Swap, Canon Blending, Canon Non-Binary Character, Canon Rewrite, Diaspora/Mixed-Race Feels, Genocide, Mental Health Issues, Multi, Original Character(s), Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Racism, Period-Typical Transphobia, Polyamory, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Romani Character, Sibling Incest, Suicidal Thoughts, Trans Female Character, Trans Male Character, Wartime, Worldbuilding</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 04:35:49</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>15,893</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29280162</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/rokosourobouros/pseuds/rokosourobouros</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>PART THREE of LSNA, following Hero of The People and Dog of the Empire.</p><p>Central Command is in flames, and Diana Solaris, Will Elric and Jareth Valjean are on the run. Their careers are gone, the homunculi and the military in close pursuit, and the conspiracy they want to uncover buried almost too deep to see. But they've got more friends than they think they do - in places high and low. Meanwhile, an underground radio station ignites the sparks of rebellion against Fuhrer Roy Mustang, Alexander Elric's new family is drawing him ever closer into their fold...</p><p>...and in the wreckage of the cities of Lior and Ishval, something else lies far below.</p><p>Multiple character switch - the homunculi are written in the place of the heroes, and vice versa. (William is Envy, the Flame Alchemist is Lust, etc.)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Envy &amp; Lust (Fullmetal Alchemist), Envy &amp; Wrath (Fullmetal Alchemist 2003), Envy/Greed (Fullmetal Alchemist), Envy/Pride (Selim Bradley), Greed/Lust (Fullmetal Alchemist), Lust/Scar's Brother (Fullmetal Alchemist), Sloth (Trisha Elric)/Rosé Thomas</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Lux Sanguinum, Nox Animorum [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1744609</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. The End!</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Welcome back! Enemy of the Nation is Part Three of Lux Sanguinum Nox Animorum; if you haven’t read either Hero of the People or Dog of the Empire, stop, turn around, and please start there! You will be VERY, VERY confused.</p><p>If you're confused anyway, the names should be ringing a bell - and reference HOTP 35 (Handmade Ego), DOTE 34 (Maps) and DOTE 47 (Red Right Hand).</p><p>Language notes:</p><p>停 – Ting! – Stop!</p><p>我打算 殺 佢 – Ngo daa syun saat keoi – I am going to kill him/I intend to kill him</p><p>不是 – Bat si – No.</p><p>或者 – Waak ze – Maybe?</p><p>Not only can I not guarantee that this is accurate or good Cantonese, I actually can say that this is probably very clumsy Cantonese, and that I hope it is, because Diana’s Guangdong is actually not very good, and just sounds Vaguely Foreign to people who don’t know it. Ah, racism. The reason I’m making a point of translating it (or even attempting) is because, well, one, it’s fun, and two, I’m kind of accidentally learning both Mandarin and Cantonese from this fic. (It’s really fun.) But, seriously, please do not take me as any authority. I am the opposite.</p><p>For the Ishvalan, Aten and Akan mean mom and dad, while Paten means grandma (and Pakan, while not used here, means grandpa). </p><p>Also, meta note: The Ishvalan here isn’t italicized, while the Xingese is. That’s because we’re in a context where every character except one speaks Ishvalan completely naturally, but the Xingese is completely foreign. I’ve mostly italicized non-Amestrian languages before this, but I’m playing around with like – what gets marked as ‘other’ and what doesn’t, and challenging myself on it a bit.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>~1~</p><p>
  <em>So throw on the black dress, mix in with the lot<br/>You might wake up and notice you're someone you're not<br/>If you look in the mirror and don't like what you see<br/>You can find out, first hand, what it's like to be me</em>
</p><p>
  <em>-The End!</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <strong>1907</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>                A very long time ago, which was probably less long ago than Shachar thought, he had been the kind of man who could sleep through anything. Ridwan used to tease him about it. He could sleep through the valyrnavat if he <em>really </em>wanted to, and at least once, there’d been a minor earthquake, the whole family had gotten up to make sure it was a minor one, and Aken had come back in to find her oldest son just starting to blearily wake up and reach for his glasses.</p><p>                These days, that wasn’t an option. Nor did he think he’d ever manage that again. Aken was gone, anyway. So was Atan, and just about everybody else. There was Ridwan, and Paken, and that was it.</p><p>                Shachar stared at the ceiling, trying to decide what had woken him up in the middle of the night this time. Gunfire? Another bomb? Screaming? There hadn’t been anything for a day or two, so they were overdue.</p><p>                No, he realized.</p><p>                Somebody was running. And there was yelling following, but – they were yelling in Ishvalan.</p><p>                Shachar got to his feet and looked out the window. There was a woman running down the street, tattered slippers ramming the ground as she fled for her life. The remnants of his community were pursuing her, guns in hand, and a few of them were aiming –</p><p>                Invata <em>nakab. </em>Idiots.</p><p>                “Stop! <em>Stop!” </em>He hauled himself out of the window, then grabbed his pole from inside the window. It wouldn’t do anything against their guns, but hopefully nobody was getting <em>too </em>trigger-happy. “Stop it, you- Ugh!”</p><p>                The woman tripped, and cursed in something that wasn’t Ishvalan but <em>wasn’t </em>Amestrian. Shachar put himself between the mob and the woman, and was happy to see that they came to a sudden, almost-sheepish stop. At least he still held some authority. “Are you done?” he shot at them.</p><p>                “She showed up out of nowhere!”</p><p>                Shachar sighed, rubbing his forehead. “Yeah, okay. We’ll figure it out. But I don’t care how long we’ve been at war, we’re not killing anybody who happens to-“</p><p>                A knife appeared at his throat. He might be eating his words.</p><p>                “<em>Ti̖ng! Ngo dǎa syūn sāat keoi!” </em>She didn’t sound particularly confident, although she was trying to. And for all that he doubted she was saying anything good, she wasn’t saying it in anything that anyone here was going to recognize.</p><p>                One of the younger men had his gun pointed at her. Sachar held out his hand. “Stop, stop. It’s okay. I think she’s scared.”</p><p>                “She’s going to cut your <em>throat.</em>”</p><p>                “Well, yes. Maybe. That would be unfortunate.” He carefully tried to angle his face so he could see hers. She was young – older than Ridwan, but maybe around his age. And she <em>definitely </em>didn’t look Amestrian. Certainly he was a little prone to making snap judgements, and he knew not all Amestrians cut the blonde, blue-eyed, nearly sickly figure that they liked to portray. But she reminded him more of the Southlanders. Pale, certainly, but a different kind of pale.</p><p>                “Can you understand me?” he asked, trying to keep his voice soft. He tried it in Ishvalan first – worth a shot.</p><p>                <em>“…Bát sì. W-wàak zě?” </em>She was sounding uncertain now. Shachar exhaled a little, although he was still very aware of the knife at his throat.</p><p>                “How about this?” he tried in Amestrian. <em>Definite </em>relaxation there.</p><p>                “S-some. Little.”</p><p>                “Aha. There we go.” He kept his voice steady and slow. The poor girl clearly wasn’t particularly well versed in it. “We won’t hurt you. <em>Right?” </em>he glared at the mob, who was looking rather contrite and less of a mob than a gaggle of stressed and traumatized people, now. His community. He couldn’t blame them. He just… well.</p><p>                “Promise?” she said quietly.</p><p>                “Promise. Do you have a name?”</p><p>                That one only got a blank stare from her. He tried again, pointing at himself. “Shachar angat-Zabshaj.” Then he pointed at her. “You?”</p><p>                “Oh. Faa Bin.”</p><p>                “Faa Bin.” He gestured at the crowd – somebody handed him a blanket, and he wrapped it around her shoulders. She’d seemed so small at first, but then she straightened a little from her hunched posture, and he blinked in surprise. She was <em>tall. </em>He could understand a little more why people had mistaken her for a threat. But she was filthy, streaked with dirt and dust from the desert, and clearly hadn’t eaten a proper meal in a while. “Here. This way.”</p><p>                She nodded – then somebody whispered in the crowd, in Amestrian, “Great. Another mouth to feed.”</p><p>                Faa Bin didn’t <em>say </em>anything. But Shachar caught the little hardening of her eyes and the shift of her gaze, ever so subtly, towards whoever had said that. He kept the little chuckle to himself. He wasn’t <em>worried </em>that she knew more Amestrian than she let on. In fact, he admired that she was playing it safe. You had to, in wartime.</p><p>                He was just curious to find out what kind of mind lived behind those clever, survivor’s eyes.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. 21st Century Breakdown</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>TW: car crash, drugs, injury, immediate trauma aftermath/stress reaction, established/recurring character death, protest-turned-violent, police brutality,</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>And here we are! I…. cannot believe I am on part three. What.</p><p>The song used is by Green Day, but the lyrics are from the demo version! It’s on Youtube and, in my opinion, vastly superior to the version from the album, so I highly recommend it. (Both are good, though.)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>~2~</p><p>
  <em>There is a war that's inside my head<br/>That questions the results and lies<br/>I'm breaking my back 'till i'm better off dead<br/>When enough ain't enough to survive<br/>I am an agent, a worker, a pawn<br/>My debt to the status quo<br/>The scars on my hands are a means to an end<br/>It's all that i have to show</em>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>-21<sup>st</sup> Century Breakdown</em>
  </strong>
</p><p> </p><p>                Will Elric’s opinion on cars had certainly changed, but as he extricated himself from the bale of hay and dusted straw off of his shirt with a grimace, he decided that it was <em>not, </em>ultimately, for the better.</p><p>                “Everybody okay?” he said, head still spinning a little.</p><p>                <em>I might kill you. But yes, </em>Selim said dizzily from Rizenbul. <em>Also, Dad says you’re not allowed near his car when he gets it. </em></p><p>
  <em>                Any time soon?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>                Ever.</em>
</p><p>Will chuckled wryly. He wasn’t gonna fight that one. Goddamn finicky things. How was <em>he </em>supposed to know that the brakes weren’t gonna keep up with a boosted acceleration system? As far as he was concerned, cars should keep <em>all </em>eventualities in mind when designing their engines.</p><p>                <em>…I’m rewriting your automail warranty.</em></p><p>Diana sat up, rubbing her head, then stared at the steering wheel she was still holding and tossed it aside with a groan. “Congratulations. That’s the first destroyed car I <em>haven’t </em>been responsible for.”</p><p>                “You know what? I’m taking that as a compliment.”</p><p>                “Never again,” Davidson moaned from the floor. “Never again. You’re all crazy. I wanna go home.”</p><p>                “Sorry, kid.” Will actually did feel bad. Davidson was, er… well. Davidson.</p><p>                “Who are <em>you </em>calling kid?” was all he managed to say before suddenly looking very green and rushing to the corner.</p><p>                The little blond guy that Will <em>didn’t </em>know seemed fine, weirdly enough. Which left…</p><p>                Will looked up. “Did you <em>jump?</em>”</p><p>                “…No?” Jareth replied unconvincingly, then dropped from the rafter he’d been holding. “I went flying and grabbed the first thing I could find.”</p><p>                Will prodded his bicep. “Jesus. Aren’t you <em>tired?</em>”</p><p>                “Yes. Stop poking me.”</p><p>                “Yeah, yeah. I just keep forgetting that you can benchpress like, two of me.”</p><p>                Jareth just stared at him, and then shook his head, looking like he was either going to laugh or punch him. That was good. That meant Jareth was feeling almost <em>normal. </em>Then he flopped back onto the hay bale, groaning softly.</p><p>                Will glanced over at Diana. Any moment now, she was going to take charge. Right? Or Jareth would- well, no. He wasn’t that stupid. Davidson wasn’t going to. And the other guy he didn’t even think was military.</p><p>                Shit. That didn’t even <em>matter </em>anymore.</p><p>                <em>It’s gotta be you, Will, </em>Selim said softly.</p><p>                <em>I know, I know. I just don’t </em>want <em>to.</em></p><p>
  <em>                You’re the one who drove into an inferno to save them.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>                Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I want responsibility! Responsibility is for other people!</em>
</p><p>Still, Selim was right – and even more, he could feel Selim fading, which meant <em>he </em>was probably going to pass the hell out soon. Selim had been the one actually taking all the drugs for him, which meant that Selim would crash first. Plus, he needed the sleep.</p><p>                <em>So do you, </em>Selim shot back crankily.</p><p>                <em>I promise. I just have to make sure we don’t get killed first.</em></p><p>Will let the other four get their bearings a little, and checked the hole in the barn. He <em>could </em>transmute it back together, but it was broad daylight, and –</p><p>                Ah, motherfucker. Yeah. Where there was a barn, there was a farmer, and the farmhouse door was opening.</p><p>                “Up, up, up,” he urged Diana.</p><p>                “What? What’s happening?”</p><p>                “Just – get in the corner. Behind the hay bale.” And he – fuck. Even if he fixed his clothes and his hair, the metal arm and leg were dead giveaways. “Davidson. Other one. Get over here?”</p><p>                “What? Why us?” Davidson protested.</p><p>                “Because you look normal. Get your uniform off,” he ordered, and Davidson blanched.</p><p>                “I-in front of everyone?”</p><p>                “You have about ten minutes before the farmer shows up. Jacket off, and I’ll turn the trousers black. Give me a sec.” It’d ruin his clothes, but – He clapped his hands together, got to his knees and pressed the hem of his skirt to Davidson’s trousers, leeching the dye into his uniform trousers. Then he straightened up-</p><p>                -and found himself almost nose to nose with the other guy, who was smirking at him. He stepped back, struck dumb for a second – <em>oh dear he’s very pretty – </em>and then shook himself back into reality. “Uh. What’s your name?”</p><p>                “Georgie,” he said, still smiling.</p><p>                “G-Georgie. Right. Can you talk, uh… man, I don’t want to say normally.”</p><p>                “Well, <em>aye. </em>Just gimme a sec. I hate doin’ it.”</p><p>                “I just need you and Davids- er, Joey to pretend you crashed the car. Play up the pathetic act. You’re two brothers, you’re going to be in so much trouble with your parents, can they spare some food and let you stay in the barn overnight and you’ll fix it all up in the morning, blah, blah, blah.”</p><p>                Davidson fidgeted a little. “I – uh, yes. Okay. I can do that.”</p><p>                “The nervous thing works. Just try to sound miserable instead of nervous.”</p><p>                “I <em>am </em>miserable.”</p><p>                “Great. I mean, sorry. But great.”</p><p>                The barn door creaked open, and Will dove behind the hay bale between Diana and Jareth, who were both looking at him with… he wasn’t sure what, actually. “<em>What?</em>” he whispered.</p><p>                “You are <em>good </em>under pressure,” Diana whispered back.</p><p>                “I’m half-metal instead of <em>dead </em>for a reason. Now shuddup.”</p><p>                She actually obeyed him, although she looked a little like she’d sucked on a lemon. Jareth…</p><p>                Jareth hadn’t said a word. Which was concerning for its own reasons.</p><p>                Will peered over the top of the hay bale. The woman who’d entered was an older woman, using a cane to steady her pace on the slightly-warped boards. “What on <em>earth? </em>Look at this damage!”</p><p>                “I’m so sorry!” Georgie cried out. “We can fix it!”</p><p>                “With <em>what, </em>your damn thick heads?” She adjusted her glasses. “Good god. How old are you two?”</p><p>                “Uh. Tw-twenty two?” Davidson said, in a remarkably unconvincing voice given that Will was pretty sure he was telling the <em>truth.</em></p><p>“An’ I’m a sprightly eighteen. The truth this time.”</p><p>                Will bit his tongue not to laugh. Kidnapping the puppy face had been a good idea after all.</p><p>                Georgie glanced at Davidson with a rueful face. “He’s sixteen. I’m eighteen.”</p><p>                “<em>That’s </em>more like it.” She scowled at them, then exhaled. “Do your parents know you’re out?”</p><p>                Georgie nodded, Davidson shook his head -then nodded.</p><p>                “Uh huh.” She rubbed her jaw, clearly thinking. “Why don’t you come on over and talk to Clovis? Can’t think how the two of you alone would fix that hole, but with Clovis’s help, perhaps. Plus, you’re both too skinny. Your mama doesn’t feed your enough. On the <em>condition,</em>” she said, almost savagely, “that you call your parents and tell ‘em where you are. I’ll keep you overnight but no more’n that.” She tottered out of the barn, and Will heard her mumbling under her breath. “Bloody well break somebody’s neck, those machines will. Horses ain’t good enough for nobody no more?”</p><p>                Georgie gave Davidson a playful shove out the door, and Davidson just mouthed “<em>Sixteen??” </em>at him before following the woman to the house itself.</p><p>                Will exhaled, flopping onto the hay bale. “Okay. That worked. Awesome. Maybe we’ll have food. And not get shot. I like not getting shot.” He slid back down to the wood floor of the barn, then looked between Diana and Jareth. Who, conspicuously, hadn’t said a word to <em>each other.</em></p><p>Right. Cool. This was totally something he was comfortable being in the middle of.</p><p>                He flopped back on the hay bale, and tried to catch his breath. Right. Right, cool. Cool. They had made it out – maybe. Maybe they had been followed. Maybe they were about to get arrested.</p><p>                Maybe –</p><p>                Oop. There it was. The world almost flashed <em>grayscale </em>for a moment, and he tried to sit up, only to slide into a wobbly, boneless heap onto the floor.</p><p>                “Will!” Diana moved to catch him. “Shoot, I haven’t had a look at you. Are you okay?” She moved to look at the bandage, but he waved her hand away.</p><p>                “Fine. <em>Fiiine. </em>Just…uh… lotta drugs. Fuck.”</p><p>                “Drugs?” Jareth echoed, his face coming into view. “What did you <em>do?”</em></p><p>“S’fine. Selim took ‘em, not me.” He rubbed at his face, then stuck his tongue out. “Just gotta rest. Ow.”</p><p>                Diana looked at Jareth, then glanced away, looking embarrassed. He snorted, then propped up Will on his chest, leaning back against one of the support beams, legs on either side of him. “There, now you can look at him without trying to do five things at once.”</p><p>                “Thank you.”</p><p>                “I’m <em>fine, </em>I said-“</p><p>                She pulled off the bandage, and he winced. “…You’re bleeding.”</p><p>                “Flesh wound.”</p><p>                “<em>Will.</em>”</p><p>                He actually looked at her this time, and the snarky response died on his tongue. She was just as exhausted as him, stress wrinkling at the corners of her eyes and mouth and leaving dark shadows where it went. There wasn’t much point in brushing it off. He just… well. He was fine. “I really am okay,” he sighed. “I did that to myself-“</p><p>                “<em>What?</em>”</p><p>                “Mustang had me scheduled for some awful surgery. Pretended I’d already had it done, got one of the nurses to bandage me up and bled through it a bit. Got <em>almost </em>all the way out, but Archer showed up and couldn’t quite get past him.”</p><p>                “Archer. He’s going to be trouble-“ Diana started to say, then paused. “How <em>did </em>you get past him?”</p><p>                “Killed him with an elevator.”</p><p>                “<em>What?”</em> Jareth burst out. “You <em>what?</em>”</p><p>                “He was in the way! Also, anybody dumb enough to try jump through an elevator roof after me has it coming.”</p><p>                Jareth opened his mouth, then closed it, pinching the bridge of his nose. Will couldn’t figure out whether he was trying not to laugh or fighting off a migraine. “Today has been <em>insane.</em>”</p><p>                “If it helps, death by elevator isn’t even that weird for me.”</p><p>                “…I can’t decide if it helps or not. You’re a little frightening.”</p><p>                “You still haven’t told me what you drugged yourself with,” Diana said dubiously. “I’m a little worried.”</p><p>                “Er. Adrenaline, I think? The Bradleys have it on hand for automail patients and stuff.”</p><p>                “But how did you get it?”</p><p>                “I didn’t take it, Jareth, <em>Selim </em>did.”</p><p>                Understanding was dawning in Diana’s face – but the concern wasn’t leaving. “That’s… not normal.”</p><p>                “So one of you takes something and you both feel the effects?” When Will nodded, Jareth blew out a lungful of air, running his hands through his hair. “Christ. When you said a <em>connection, </em>I thought you meant like… I don’t <em>know </em>what you meant.”</p><p>                “I don’t know what I meant either. But-“ Will reached into Jareth’s front pocket and pulled out the lighter that he’d put there. “Figured you’d appreciate this.”</p><p>                Jareth snatched the lighter back from him, staring at him for a moment and then shaking his head. “I can’t <em>believe </em>you. How many strings have you been pulling?”</p><p>                “Not <em>that </em>many. Selim and I mostly make it up as we go.”</p><p>                “The best plans work that way, I find,” Diana admitted. She was unbuttoning her uniform jacket, pulling it off her shoulders. “I can’t help but be annoyed, though.”</p><p>                “Why?”</p><p>                “I spent all this time <em>worrying </em>about you,” she grumbled, not sounding <em>that </em>angry. “I’m supposed to be the one with the plans.”</p><p>                Jareth watched Diana with a look that Will didn’t understand – maybe just didn’t have the context for – then nodded, although to what, he wasn’t sure. “At least I’m on <em>familiar </em>ground now. No money, no weapons, no supplies. I’m way more comfortable.”</p><p>                “Actually, we thought of that.”</p><p>                “You <em>did?</em>” Diana looked so impressed that Will was certain she was going to end up punching him out of spite. He tried not to preen.</p><p>“I was declared incompetent, right? So my next of kin is-“</p><p>                Jareth shifted his position on the floor, sliding Will just a <em>touch </em>away from him. “King Bradley.”</p><p>                “<em>Yep. </em>He’s got power of attorney over all my bank accounts, and he’s just given a big chunk of it to Selim, who as somebody who’s <em>never </em>been military, won’t have his spending tracked.”</p><p>                “Who says Mustang won’t do it anyway?”</p><p>                “He might,” Will admitted. “Fucker seems like the type. But it still won’t look weird, because guess where we’re going?”</p><p>                “Don’t keep me in suspense,” Diana drawled, putting her jacket on the ground and yanking out the metal buttons one by one.</p><p>                “Rush Valley.” Will couldn’t help the big grin. “An automail nerd’s paradise.”</p><p>                “…I was <em>definitely </em>worrying too much about you,” she sighed. “Also, I think maybe I will watch my wallet around you.”</p><p>                “To be fair,” he admitted, deflating slightly, “most of this was Selim’s idea. But I helped! And I’m allowed to brag about my boyf- er – b – best friend. Best friend,” he finished lamely. Thank god Selim was asleep. He wasn’t quite ready for that conversation yet.</p><p>                Jareth snickered quietly, but didn’t say anything else. Then he pressed his hand to Will’s neck. “Okay, your heart rate’s back to normal.”</p><p>                “It… wasn’t already?”</p><p>                “Nope. But it’s better now.”</p><p>                That was good. His eyes were starting to feel pretty heavy. He didn’t know if he felt okay sleeping yet – but he was falling down a very deep, very black hole, and he wasn’t getting a choice. Plus, Jareth was really warm.</p><hr/><p>                Diana reached around Will, putting the half-deconstructed jacket around his shoulders, then looked up at Jareth. He was still holding Will, face soft but eyes very far away. She thought about bringing it up – that it was <em>definitely </em>not a paternal look in his eyes – but it could wait. She trusted him to handle it, when – if – it ever came up. She’d feel more confident if it wasn’t clearly reciprocal, but they could deal with that another time.</p><p>                And trust was sort of the issue at hand.</p><p>                She sat on her knees, looking down at her hands. She still had her gloves on. They looked ridiculous without the jacket, but she couldn’t bear to take them off – not right now. What should she say? <em>I’m sorry </em>wasn’t quite enough. <em>Forgive me </em>was more… grovelling and squirming than she preferred. She wasn’t going to debase herself over a situation that hadn’t been under her control. But-</p><p>                But she could see it in the way that Jareth still wasn’t looking at her. Waiting until the last moment was all very dramatic, she supposed. It also painted a pretty clear picture.</p><p>                Instead, though, Jareth set down Will on the floor, careful not to wake him up, and then sat back against the support beam again. “Bribery or blackmail?” he asked, finally raising his eyes to hers.</p><p>                It took her a moment. Then she flushed a horrified red. “<em>Blackmail, </em>Jareth.”</p><p>                “Figured. I mean, I’d hoped. But-“</p><p>                “But <em>what? </em>You thought –“ She cut herself off, feeling frustrated tears at the corners of her eyes. She hated how high her emotions were running. It was why she couldn’t think straight, couldn’t think of the next step, could barely even <em>breathe.</em></p><p>“It was a possibility,” he shrugged. “It’s over now. Not worth talking about.”</p><p>                “I – <em>Jareth.</em>”</p><p>                He looked over at Will again, exhaling again. She realized why he kept doing that; it’d taken her a bit to notice, but he kept holding his breath, stress keeping it in his body. He was trying to relax. “Do you know how we actually killed Lust? Because I’m kind of vague on that, to be honest.”</p><p>                “Something about Ranfan’s blood.” She wasn’t <em>pleased </em>at the change of topic, but she supposed it was the most she was going to get for now. “I doubt they’ll all have convenient family members alive, though.”</p><p>                “Hm. Did you tell Mustang that we don’t actually <em>know </em>how we did it?”</p><p>                “Of course not.”</p><p>                “Good. I think he’s scared of us.”</p><p>                That… made sense. That made a lot of sense. She wanted to collapse, feel some relief, but the unspoken <em>everything </em>between her and Jareth kept her on edge. Which was – ridiculous. She was better than this. So –</p><p>                So she shoved it away. Into the same cold, empty part of her where everything else lived.</p><p>                “Get some sleep,” she said, managing a small smile. “Georgie and Davidson should be back soon, and I’ll take first watch.”</p><p>                “I… alright.” He sounded doubtful, but didn’t seem likely to argue with her. She walked into the center of the barn, jingling the buttons she’d taken from her jacket in her pocket, and thought for a moment before going outside. She could see the farmhouse clearly, and she chose her position so that – at least as far as she could tell – she wasn’t visible to <em>them. </em>It wasn’t dark yet, and she looked down the road that they’d taken. About sixty, seventy miles from Central proper, which was pretty damn good time, all things considered. Well, it would be, if they hadn’t blown up the car.</p><p>                Alright, so step one, cover the tire tracks. She’d get Davidson to help her. Step two –</p><p>                <em>He hates you now.</em></p><p>Step two. She had to focus on step two. Step two was <em>what, </em>Diana? Radio. They needed to keep track of what was happening. No, that wasn’t step two. It was a step, but it wasn’t step two.</p><p>                Step two. Ditch the fucking uniform.</p><p>                Nobody was looking, and she wasn’t exactly shy anyway, so she pulled off the trousers, using the edge of one of her salvaged buttons to draw a simple circle. She could turn the trousers into –</p><p>                -into what? They were going to Rush Valley. No dramatics. And she had to be able to move. Slacks, maybe suspenders. That worked. She chucked two of her buttons into the circle to compensate for the extra metal, then pulled the slacks and suspenders on. It was very… <em>country. </em>But that was a good thing.</p><p>                Step three…</p><p>                She sat down, suddenly exhausted. She’d forgotten how much alchemy she’d done today. She wanted to turn the rest of the buttons into a weapon, but she didn’t have any juice left. Besides, she didn’t want to think about how much she’d have to change her appearance. Will had cut <em>his </em>hair. That was a sacrifice she didn’t want to think about. And she’d had short hair before. It was petty of her to be concerned about it.</p><p>                <em>And you’re still avoiding thinking about Jareth. Don’t you feel bad, for abandoning him?</em></p><p>
  <em>                I didn’t abandon him.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>                He sure thinks you did.</em>
</p><p>She didn’t want to deal with this right now. She had done enough today. She had a mission in front of her, which meant the rest of this was stuff to deal with at another time-</p><p>                Diana bit down on her tongue so hard that she tasted blood in her mouth.</p><p>                And the last time that she had focused on the mission and ignored everything else, how had <em>that </em>gone?</p><p>                She curled up between the barn door and one of the shrubs. She could see everything from here, at least. But it was going to be a long night.</p><hr/><p>                The riots had begun to die down. Perhaps that was a bad word. That implied a certain level of passivity, rather than hours of work. Hawkeye disliked this kind of work. They were meant to keep casualties <em>down, </em>rather than elevate them, which meant that she and the other military police tasked with handling the riots had been forced to rely on batons instead of anything actually useful.</p><p>                That had been bad enough, when the two sets of protestors were lunging for each other. But they’d turned into riots at the sight of the escaping trio, and slowly – or not even that slowly - the tone of the riots had changed. Bit by bit, the civilians that she’d seen as a nuisance, an obstacle, had turned from attacking each other, to pressing like a wall of bodies against the military themselves.</p><p>                “Where’s Maes Hughes?”</p><p>                “Who’s the real murderer?”</p><p>                “Why did you let him go?”</p><p>                “Valjean’s innocent!”</p><p>                “<em>Valjean’s innocent!</em>”</p><p>                “You framed him!”</p><p>                The cries were almost indistinguishable from each other, and Hawkeye couldn’t figure out what could possibly have changed the tide so quickly. The two sets of protestors <em>hated </em>each other. One set were anti-gay crusaders, the other were-</p><p>                But before she had time to think about it, one of the policeman panicked at the sight of the oncoming crush, dropped his baton, and fired a shot into the crowd.</p><p>                And after that, the rest had been a massacre.</p><p>                After the surviving crowd had fled, she found Erik Chamond – with a bullet in his chest, whether one of hers or one of her fellow policemen – propped up against one of the abandoned, shattered storefronts. He was still alive, but not enough to protest as she took the stack of pamphlets from his hand. Not many left. Clearly they’d gotten dispersed through the crowd.</p><p>                <em>VALJEAN IS INNOCENT</em></p><p>
  <em>                THE FUHRER LIES</em>
</p><p>
  <em>                OPEN YOUR EYES</em>
</p><p>There was more, in smaller print, but she could guess even before reading it. Cleverly written, to taunt the conservative crowd with the idea that their precious Fuhrer was manipulating them, and push the others into action. She could guess who had printed these, and especially who’d be conniving enough to do it ahead of time, and it wasn’t Erik Chamond.</p><p>                <em>I told him there was something wrong with her, </em>Hawkeye seethed. “I suppose you’re awfully proud of yourself. Twenty civilians dead, thirty injured.”</p><p>                “I didn’t shoot them,” he said, shrugging with a small laugh. “That was all you.”</p><p>                “You didn’t help.” She tightened her grip, pamphlets crushing in her hand. “Ross, Valjean, Solaris… even <em>Davidson </em>I could see. But you? What stake do <em>you </em>have in any of this? You’re a good soldier. You’re not bent, you’re not disloyal, you’re not <em>anything.</em>”</p><p>                Erik’s breaths were coming harder now. She was tempted to finish him off, but she wanted his answer. It was <em>bothering </em>her. “You’re right. You know what I am?”</p><p>                “What?” she snapped.</p><p>                “One of the only people who encountered the Beast and lived.” Chamond grinned at her, with no humor. “I didn’t care before. That you didn’t get any older. That Mustang didn’t. But now, well – if I’m gonna be cannon fodder, I’ll do it for someone who gives a shit.”</p><p>                “How lovely for you,” Hawkeye spat. Then she raised her gun and fired a shot through his head. She didn’t care how much it looked like an execution. She couldn’t <em>stand </em>speeches.</p><hr/><p>                In the aftermath of the August 1<sup>st</sup> Central City riots, several people quietly disappeared from the city, including Amue Armstrong, Sheska Thomas and Herb Farris. The Central Gazette lead editor, undecided on whether to fire or promote her, opened the door of Clara Severin’s office to find it cleared out, and her final article lying on the desk. After reading it, he elected not to print it; however, out of obligation, slight panic and definite guilt<em>, </em>he sent it to the tabloid paper, <em>The National Ragtime News. </em></p><p>In a shocking increase from its usual circulation of about five hundred, <em>The National Ragtime </em>sold about half a million copies of the issue that published Clara Severin’s last article. Inside of it, although nobody could figure out how on <em>earth </em>she’d procured it, was a copy of the Investigations file for Maes Hughes’s murder, the witness statements for Diana Solaris, Jareth Valjean, Gracia Hughes and others as taken at the time of the murder – and most crucially, the coroner and lead detective at the time’s first statement. <em>While further investigation is required, due to the precision of the shot, the lack of signs of struggle, or use of a more impulsive weapon, initial impressions lead us to believe this is a professional hit and not a crime of passion. </em>The coroner was Dr. Boxton, who when presented with the article and document, confirmed that it looked correct, although declined to make any other statement when asked <em>why </em>he hadn’t been asked for consult for the trial. The initial detective was Alex Louis Armstrong.</p><p>                Of course, it was still a tabloid. Plenty of people were reading it for the sensationalism of it, the thrill of the twists and the turns of the case. Severin’s reporting just helped that along, capturing attention with writing more akin to storytelling than facts. Certainly nobody could <em>really </em>believe it. Nevertheless, schoolteachers found themselves confiscating copies of the <em>National Ragtime </em>from children passing it around in class. Factory managers noticed their men on smoke breaks gathered around single copies. Other tabloids in other cities started making up wild stories or simply reprinting and rewriting Severin’s article. Radio plays made sly references to it; debutantes giggled about it where their governesses couldn’t hear, “what would <em>you </em>do if your husband was… you know?” and wondered about it possibly longer than they should have. Young men training as doctors and lawyers in universities saw the stories, shook their heads and scoffed, and pushed away the dreams they’d had about their classmates or their teachers, because <em>all </em>men thought about these things sometimes, but that wasn’t the same thing… they thought.</p><p>                Plenty of questions were asked. Who <em>was </em>Clara Severin, anyway? Where had Valjean, Solaris and Elric ended up? Had this all been planned from the beginning – some massive con? And <em>how </em>had Severin gotten her hands on the report, even if it was true (and Boxton’s reaction seemed to confirm it)?</p><p>                The last one, at the very least, Clara would have answered quite readily. Archer thought he ran a tight ship at Investigations, but even he overlooked the simple fact that even second floors needed to lock their windows.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Immaterial</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>TW: inferred homophobia, internalized racism, internalized transphobia, a... truly STUNNING amount of sexual tension for a scene that technically doesn't have any sex in it. TRULY.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Song is by SOPHIE, who passed away recently. RIP to a queen who revolutionized music.</p><p>Linguistic notes: Vojvode and furidaj are in-verse versions of actual words, voivode and phuri dai. Voivode is technically Slavic but adopted into many Romani communities to refer to Roma chieftains. Phuri dai refers to an older woman (lit. ‘senior woman’) in the community who acts as an advisor to the voivode.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>~3~</p><p>
  <em>With no name and with no type of story, <br/>Where do I live? Tell me, where do I exist?<br/>We're just...<br/>Im-ma-ma-material, immaterial<br/>Immaterial boys, immaterial girls</em>
</p><p>-<strong><em>Immaterial</em></strong></p><p> </p><p>                Rush Valley didn’t advertise being a ciganoj town. Like Rizenbul, it wasn’t <em>only </em>ciganoj; unlike Rizenbul, it had been founded by Keladoj and Viatojn to begin with, and the city bore the mark of its origins in its own ways. “You have to know what to look for,” Pinako had told Selim on the train ride in. In the cultural patchwork of the East, for example, it didn’t seem <em>so </em>strange that Rush Valley had a dual mayorship, one man and one woman; nor had it struck Selim as particularly strange that they had titles of their own (what else would they be called, lord and lady mayor?) until Pinako had pointed out that they were ciganoj words. The voyvoder and the furidai. <em>Vojvode </em>and <em>furidaj </em>in Keladač cant, apparently.</p><p>                Selim managed to shrug it off as a cool fact, just a piece of trivia that was cool to know, but looking out of the window, he felt his heart rise into his throat. He’d never gotten to learn any of this from his mother. Until recently, he’d thought of his Faber family as embarrassing, the kind of family that you <em>loved, </em>you <em>guess, </em>but you didn’t talk about at school because oh god, then you’d have to talk about the fact that Ambrose only had three shirts and wouldn’t accept more, or that the only reason Manfri wasn’t in prison was because his pet goat had rammed a cop in the stomach.</p><p>                <em>Why don’t I ever hear about this stuff? </em>Will laughed. <em>Manfri sounds awesome.</em></p><p><em>                Of course you’d say that, </em>Selim grumbled. <em>His goat smells awful.</em></p><p>
  <em>                I mean, sure. It’s a goat. </em>
</p><p>Selim couldn’t help but smile. He supposed he couldn’t be <em>that </em>annoyed now that he was helping with a prison break -</p><p>                Oh god. He really <em>was </em>a Faber.</p><p>                <em>Ah, the realization dawns, </em>Will teased. <em>Where are you, anyway?</em></p><p><em>                Pulling into the station. </em>Selim yanked himself away from his stewing to scan the station for any sign of military. There were a few uniforms here and there, but no increased presence… visibly, anyway. He’d asked his dad about it, and so he knew what the ‘norm’ would be; military police, the local Captain or Major overseer, and his or her staff. <em>How about you?</em></p><p>
  <em>                Ughh. We’re on one of those god-awful cargo trains.</em>
</p><p>Selim bit his lip, trying not to smile, even while he was sympathetic. Will and the others had fled East first; probably to lead the search that way, and not towards Dublith where Izumi and the other kids were probably still vulnerable. Not to mention Forcett. But after getting away from the barn, they’d found themselves a mile or two from Meyer. From there, they’d broken into the back cars of one of the cargo trains that went between East City and Rush Valley with Meyer as a first stop. The good news was that the train had plenty of supplies. The bad news was that it stopped at every single other town along the way, delivering pasteurized milk, leather, and…</p><p>                <em>Sheep. I am so fucking tired of sheep, Selim. I grew up with them. I do not want more sheep. </em></p><p>
  <em>                You were just getting excited about a goat.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>                GOATS. ARE DIFFERENT. GOATS ARE NOT SHEEP. </em>
</p><p>Selim lost the war with himself and started snickering, especially as Will shoved another adventurous sheep away from his face. <em>You got everything else you needed!</em></p><p><em>                Yeah, yeah, great, we have food and clothes and stuff. But was it really worth it? </em>Will was complaining, but under it lay the obvious relief that the first stages of their escape, at least, had gone smoothly. Not for lack of trying by the Fuhrer. Selim and Pinako had only managed to make it onto the train after a barrage of questions and having their baggage checked <em>twice. </em></p><p>                “How’s your boy doing?” Pinako asked, small smile on her face, and Selim couldn’t help the blush.</p><p>                “He’s fine. They’re on one of the cargo trains, so they’ll be a few hours still. So we just have to find that friend of yours.”</p><p>                “That’s right – Dominic LeCoulte. He lives on the outskirts these days, but his son has a shop in the Market district.”</p><p>                “Which is…?”</p><p>                Pinako just prodded his foot with her cane. “Slow <em>down. </em>The whole point of your cover is that you’re here to enjoy the automail, right? So take your time. Sightsee. It’s not like we have to worry about losing contact with ‘em.”</p><p>                That was true. And he <em>had </em>always wanted to go to Rush Valley. It was one of those things that King kept meaning to get around to, taking him there – but the years went on, and something or other had always come up, and then there’d been Lyon Hall and Pinako.</p><p>                He gave her a look, and then started as she caught him, trying to hide it. “Come on, boy. What’s on your mind?”</p><p>                “I – Nothing.”</p><p>                “Should I ask Will later instead?”</p><p>                “Oh, god. Telling you was a mistake.”</p><p>                “It’s why you’re alive,” she replied succinctly. “Ohp, here we go. Help me up. You can tell me in a bit.”</p><p>                The train ground to a halt, and Selim took Pinako’s arm, trying not to be <em>too </em>amused by the fact that she came up to his elbow. He wasn’t even <em>that </em>tall. He just kept looking tall next to everybody around him. So far, so good –</p><p>                Oh, great.</p><p>                There were soldiers doing the baggage check. <em>Again.</em></p><p><em>                Really? </em>Will sounded worried. <em>I thought they were still doing the Eastern trains.</em></p><p><em>                I guess they’re expanding. </em>He couldn’t blame Will for being worried.</p><p>                He looked over through Will’s eyes, and Will asked, <em>“Hey, is it weird that there’s soldiers doing baggage checks at Rush Valley already?”</em></p><p>                Diana raised her head from what she was doing, then shook her head. “The first 24 hours of any chase are the most crucial. After a week, most leads go cold.”</p><p>                That made sense – but that meant they had a week to go off the grid. Selim glanced around the train car. Jareth and Davidson were in the corner playing cards, and Georgie was… somewhere else, but he figured just getting changed –</p><p>                <em>Stop that, </em>Will grumbled, <em>you’re making me dizzy.</em></p><p>
  <em>                Oh. Sorry.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>                S’ok. I have no idea how any of this works. Just get past the baggage check and we’ll figure out the rest, okay? </em>
</p><p>Selim nodded, trying to relax. It was their turn, next. The military police doing the check was a grizzled, black-haired man who stank of nutmeg for some reason, and when he asked for their names, he narrowed his eyes. “Bradley, huh?”</p><p>                “What about it?” he replied, trying to keep his voice even.</p><p>                “Mm. You’re Elric’s automail engineer.”</p><p>                “Was. We’re –“ He hated his. “We’re no longer affiliated.”</p><p>                “Hm. Rightly enough, I suppose,” the cop sighed, then opened his suitcase, rummaging through the contents with a carelessness that made Selim’s nerves just tense up all the more. “Good kid like you shouldn’t have gotten tangled up with that sort in the first place.”</p><p>                <em>That sort? </em>Selim bit his tongue. Will was trying to keep him calm in the background, which wasn’t <em>fair, </em>Will was the one being insulted –</p><p>                “You’re sure you haven’t had any contact with him?” the cop asked.</p><p>                Selim shook his head mutely. “We’ve barely spoken in almost two months. The last time I saw him, we had a – a nasty fight.”</p><p>                Maybe it was something about how he’d said it. Maybe he’d made it sound like a lover’s quarrel when it hadn’t been. But the soldier looked at him for longer than he needed to, then snorted in a way that didn’t quite… <em>feel </em>right. “<em>Right</em>. Off you go.” He didn’t bother putting the interior of the suitcase back in order, just putting the top back over it with a clatter of tools.</p><p>                Selim felt his face go hot, and his fist tightened by his side. Smug <em>asshole. </em>He could practically see it on him, the derision, faint revulsion mixed with humour, and Selim couldn’t read his <em>thoughts, </em>no, only the vague impressions that he kept giving off-</p><p>                <em>Selim.</em></p><p>He could do it. The guy was just military police. Nothing special. A good hard hit to the face, break his nose, he’d think twice before –</p><p>                Pinako tugged him along, and he realized he’d been standing almost stock still. Will was – god, it felt like Will was <em>next </em>to him, draining away some of the bitterness-</p><p>                <em>You’re taking it, </em>Selim said hollowly. <em>I didn’t say you could-</em></p><p><em>                Too bad, </em>Will sighed. He was worried about Selim, that much was obvious; and he was worried about himself, and Jareth, and Diana- God. Right. He had to keep his shit together. It wasn’t about him, Mixed in with it, though, was an almost grim sense of satisfaction. Selim prickled in slight defensiveness – then realized it was complicated, multiple things woven together. Whoever thought that seeing somebody’s emotions made them easier to understand had clearly never actually been able to do it. <em>You gotta keep your head, okay?</em></p><p><em>                He was </em>laughing <em>at you. At me.</em></p><p><em>                Yeah. Because he’s a prick. And trust me, I’m the last person to give you shit about this. I’ve played some nasty tricks on people who repeated the ‘palm tree in a miniskirt’ joke to my face and weren’t friends. But…</em> There was that satisfaction. <em>It’s still very sweet of you.</em></p><p>
  <em>                Shut up.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>                I’m used to it, okay? I still gotta get used to the fact that you aren’t. </em>
</p><p>Selim couldn’t help but think it was horrid in ways he couldn’t possibly put to words that it was something you just had to get <em>used </em>to. But what had Pinako said? <em>Are you willing to go to war with the state? </em>Apparently, the answer had been yes. He just had to accept that that meant keeping a cool head and not getting himself captured or shot.</p><p>                <em>I’ll see you at Dominic’s. Okay? I gotta deal with shit here. </em></p><p><em>                Okay. </em>Okay.</p><p>                Okay.</p><hr/><p>                Will could still hear Selim’s thoughts whirling in the back of his head, but he tried to tear himself away. It was harder and harder all the time; he couldn’t <em>not </em>know what Selim was thinking, any more than Selim could say the same. And it meant that sometimes, he wasn’t sure if <em>he </em>wasn’t reacting to something, or if it was Selim. The trick was – well, for <em>now, </em>the trick was not to think about it too much.</p><p>                Two hours or so. Longer than he wanted to spend in a cargo car with sheep, but it gave him time to figure out what the hell <em>he </em>was gonna do. Diana had been steadily working on her disguise, and Georgie was changing into <em>something </em>behind some of the boxes. Davidson – Joey, he reminded himself – was wearing the clothes he’d gotten from the lady at the farm, flannel button-down shirt and jeans. He looked like a workman.</p><p>                So that just left him and Jareth.</p><p>                Will looked over at Jareth, who was determinedly playing poker against Joey with an unlit cigarette in his mouth and a distressed frown on his face. “Hey, L- Jareth?” The more stressed he got, the more he kept lapsing back into the way he was <em>used </em>to addressing them.</p><p>                “Not now, kid, I’m losing so bad I think old man Hughes just turned in his grave.”</p><p>                Will raised an eyebrow, then glanced at Joey – young, enthusiastic, and <em>completely </em>guileless Joey, who probably hadn’t even noticed Jareth’s lucky dice that he kept in his pocket. “No, you’re not. You’re taking him to the cleaners.”</p><p>                “<em>What?</em>” Joey almost <em>squeaked. </em>Then he scowled at Jareth. “You said you’d never played before!”</p><p>                “And you <em>believed him?</em>” Will couldn’t quite keep a straight face.</p><p>                Jareth gave him an aggrieved look, then burst out laughing, tossing his cards down. “Full house. Sorry. Will ruined it, so you keep your smokes for now.”</p><p>                “You <em>bastard!</em>”</p><p>                “I was lettin’ off steam! Alright, go help Di before she chops a finger off.”</p><p>                “I am <em>not going to-“</em></p><p>“Yes, yes, shush, accept the help.” Then Jareth leaned back against a crate, returning Will’s gaze. “You <em>could </em>have let me win. Now you can’t steal them from me.”</p><p>                “I’ll just steal them from Joey. Or make puppy dog eyes at him.”</p><p>                Jareth snorted at that, as if laughing at some internal joke – but smothered it quickly. “Might wanna be careful with that. What are you stressing about?”</p><p>                “I’m not – I’m not stressed –“</p><p>                “Sit your ass down.”</p><p>                Will bit back the <em>yes sir </em>and sat down where Joey had been sitting a moment before. “…Do you know what you’re gonna do for your disguise?”</p><p>                “Uh. I got a few ideas, but I’m a little lost, to be honest. I don’t blend in well.” Then Jareth gave him a scrutinizing look. “Don’t tell me <em>you’re </em>freaking out about that.”</p><p>                “No! No, I just…” Will shrugged. “I’ve never actually had to <em>disguise </em>myself before.”</p><p>                “Bullshit. Really? With all the shit you pull?”</p><p>                “I’m not good at subtle!”</p><p>                Jareth practically rolled his eyes at that. “A month ago you mighta had me believing that. Right now, you’re the reason we’re alive.” Under the snarky tone, there was a note of gratefulness that Jareth hadn’t quite said out loud; but Will heard it, and mentally batted in irritation at the warm feeling in his stomach it elicited in response. Then Jareth cleared his throat, carefully picking up and stacking the cards one by one. “If you want to be hard to track, you <em>could </em>always –“</p><p>                “Always what?”</p><p>                “Dress as a girl.”</p><p>                Will scowled at him. “I do that half the time as it is. And if you hadn’t noticed, I cut half my hair off. That won’t work.”</p><p>                “I don’t mean what you usually do.” Jareth took the cigarette out of his mouth and put it back in his breast pocket. “Usually you’re just like, wearin’ them because you <em>want </em>to, right?”</p><p>                Will wasn’t sure how comfortable he was with this conversation. Even with Jareth.</p><p>                …Especially with Jareth.</p><p>                “I – well. Yeah. I just like skirts. It’s not a big deal.”</p><p>                “Mhm. But then you at the gala, that was <em>well </em>different.” Jareth must have seen his confusion, because he clarified. “Completely different. Sorry, having Georgie around is pushin’ me back into West City talk.”</p><p>                “I – I guess. But I still look like <em>me.</em>”</p><p>                He just chuckled in response to that. “Sure, but you don’t have to. Besides, you were damn near unrecognizable at that party.”</p><p>                <em>Had </em>he been? Will supposed he wasn’t a good judge of that. But then he shook his head. “I can’t pull that off on a <em>train. </em>We’re sort of in a rush.”</p><p>                “You’ll have help.”</p><p>                “<em>Who?</em> It’s not like Gracia’s here.”</p><p>                Jareth glanced up at him as he tied the pack of cards back together – then got a wry look on his face. “…Nobody’s <em>told </em>you, la? Di, you ent told him <em>shit, </em>have you?”</p><p>                “You are going to have to be more specific,” she replied, a little tartly. “I’ve been told I’m bad at that in general.”</p><p>                “Please don’t start talking like Georgie,” Will sighed. “I have a hard enough time understanding him as it is.”</p><p>                “Ah, ye get used to it. Georgie’s, ah –“ Jareth looked over at Diana. “…Di?”</p><p>                “By the time I attacked the leader of our country, I officially stopped caring.”</p><p>                “I’m gonna take that as a <em>go ahead. </em>Di ever tell you how we met?”</p><p>                Will suddenly found himself a little concerned. “…Something about you hiding from a gang and bursting through her window.”</p><p>                “Now I’m offended. You heard about the gang and you didn’t hear where <em>she </em>was?”</p><p>                “You can criticize my storytelling skills when we’re not running for our lives.”</p><p>                “Ain’t you said that before- <em>whoop!” </em>Jareth ducked as Diana threw the lighter at him, then slid it back in his pocket, probably thankful that he could <em>light </em>his cigarette now. “Di worked in a brothel before we met.”</p><p>                Will blinked. Broth-</p><p>                Wait.</p><p>                Like a-</p><p>                Oh.</p><p>                <em>Oh.</em></p><p>Curse his face. He could hide his emotions so well when the emotion wasn’t ‘faint embarrassment’. Worse, Diana had chosen that moment to look over.</p><p>                “Oh, get over it,” she huffed, still in the same sour mood she’d been all day. “People have sex. Sometimes they pay for it.”</p><p>                “No, no, I’m not <em>that </em>nai-“</p><p>                Or maybe he was. This had started as being about Georgie. Who was friends with them. And not military.</p><p>                Jareth leaned back, playing with the lighter and trying – badly – to hide that he was laughing at him. <em>Gently, </em>to be fair. “You are a never-ending source of entertainment.”</p><p>                “Fuck <em>off. </em>I just didn’t know boys could be- I mean –“ He scratched the back of his head. “Weren’t we talking about <em>your </em>disguise?” he tried to redirect.</p><p>                “Actually, I got it here, if you can make it.”</p><p>                “Oh, great. What am I, a factory?”</p><p>                “You’re the genius alchemist who doesn’t need circles. Trust me, if I could make it, I would.”</p><p>                Will looked at the crude drawing, smacking a hand into his face. “<em>Tundok.</em>”</p><p>                “Yep.”</p><p>                “Where – where <em>is </em>that? Isn’t that Southlands?”</p><p>                Jareth nodded, then pulled a face. “I can’t <em>completely </em>pass for Amestrian. And before you suggest it, I’ve tried dying my hair before.”</p><p>                “You <em>have?</em>” Diana asked, startled.</p><p>                “I don’t tell you <em>everything! </em>Anyway, it doesn’t work. I look like a factory accident. And they’re gonna be cracking down on anything Xingese even if I could pass for full Xingese-“</p><p>                Diana suddenly made a small noise like she’d been punched in the throat. “Tundok, because nobody knows anything about Tundok.”</p><p>                “Yeah. So if I fuck it up, who’s gonna notice?”</p><p>                Diana looked away, and Will wondered what he was missing. Still, he shrugged, and tried to salvage enough from the supplies around them to make what Jareth had drawn. At least they’d managed to herd the sheep into one corner, although he had to filch some of the linen out of their mouths.</p><p>                “Where did you even get this design?” he asked, clapping his hands together and pressing them to the pile of fabric. He’d have to do it in steps, for it to look like real clothes – he’d learned that much, making his own.</p><p>                “Old movie me, Maes n’ Georgie saw once in West City.”</p><p>                “Oh my <em>god, </em>are you talking about <em>Country Rose?</em>” came Georgie’s voice from behind the crates. Will looked up mid-transmutation just as Georgie came out from behind the crates –</p><p>                -and fumbled, turning bright red.</p><p>                He would almost have believed that Georgie didn’t <em>know </em>what effect he was having, if it weren’t for the little smug grin. Georgie had triumphantly claimed two of the crates in the corner, and Will hadn’t been sure why – but now, looking up and down the ruffled dress, tight bodice and mid-length cardigan that Georgie was wearing, scarf knotted around his thin waist, and fan loosely held in his hand, he had a good guess. Also, <em>fuck. </em>Okay. Okay, he was very out of his depth, and Georgie had makeup on, where had he gotten the <em>makeup? </em></p><p>                “Jareth, dear,” Georgie drawled, his West City accent minimized but not completely gone, “wouldye check on the wee bairn afore his brain melts out his ears?”</p><p>                “Aw, be nice. And yeah, that’s the one. It had a Tundok name too, but I don’t remember it.”</p><p>                “Wait – are you dressin’ up as Cipriano? You cheeky <em>fucker.</em>”</p><p>                “Sez you.”</p><p>                Will returned to his work, trying to finish the shirt and trousers for Jareth and telling himself, firmly, that he was overreacting. It was just somebody else who wore women’s clothes. That wasn’t a big deal. Nope. Absolutely not.</p><p>                <em>Be fair. There’s a reason people kept calling you a hooker-</em></p><p>Yeah, but that had been an <em>insult. </em>And now he was facing somebody who <em>was</em>, apparently, a sex worker, and <em>did, </em>apparently, crossdress, and <em>oh no, they were hot, </em>and he was entirely blanking on how that was supposed to be an insult because goddammit, he wanted to look like that.</p><p>                “I got plenty spare if you want, la.”</p><p>                “Plenty spare what?” Will looked up, then glanced away again, still aware of how bright he was flushing. But Georgie leant down and pushed his chin back up with the closed fan, which – Will licked his lips nervously, meeting Georgie’s sparkling eyes. “…Ah. Uh. I still think – I mean – my hair’s all gone, and the automail’s kind of hard to hide –“</p><p>                “Don’t be a ninny. Come on.”</p><p>                “I-“ Suddenly Georgie was pulling him to his feet, and he <em>probably </em>could have resisted more if he wanted to, but – aw, fuck it. It was a <em>disguise. </em>He was <em>undercover. </em>It was fine.</p><p>                Behind the crates, Georgie had turned the place into an impromptu dressing room, the dresses, stockings and other pieces of clothing that Will barely recognized hung over the highest-piled boxes while the chests he’d actually ransacked lay open at his feet. It was strange. Will thought he’d be more nervous – and he <em>was – </em>but Georgie… put him at ease. Well, <em>mostly. </em>He had trouble understanding him, and it wasn’t often he ended up quite this tongue-tied around someone. But it was because he felt like any lie he offered would end up falling into pieces the moment it hit the air.</p><p>                He felt Selim trying to keep a respectful distance, and suppressed an internal laugh. <em>I know you can’t. I don’t mind the company.</em></p><p>
  <em>                I’m mostly trying to let you believe I can’t tell.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>                Tell what?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>                How much you want to fuck him.</em>
</p><p>Will managed to shove the blush away before Georgie noticed. <em>Are you really going to make me have this conversation with you, now? Here? </em></p><p><em>                Of course not! </em>Selim’s little impish giggle put him in mind of a <em>gremlin </em>more than anything else. <em>I just think you’re cute.</em></p><p>G-great. Great. Lovely. He was stuck between <em>two </em>of them. Will managed to get himself under control when Georgie turned back to him, holding… <em>some </em>sort of laced thing. “What is <em>that?</em>”</p><p>                “Y’never seen stays before?”</p><p>                “Stays?” Will echoed. Then he put his face in his hands. “Ladies’ underwear. Great.”</p><p>                “Aye, how do ye think these dresses work, la?”</p><p>                “The <em>last </em>one didn’t have any of that.”</p><p>                Georgie pulled a thoughtful face, then grinned. “You got one o’ the ones with jumps built in, yeah?”</p><p>                “Uh. Maybe?”</p><p>                “Most like, yeah. This goes round yer waist. A’ight, down to yer skivvies.”</p><p>                “<em>What?</em>”</p><p>                “What did ye <em>think </em>we were doing?”</p><p>                <em>Not a word, </em>Will grumbled to Selim, who was weaving along after Pinako through the crowded Rush Valley marketplace.</p><p>                <em>Wouldn’t dream of it.</em></p><p>He pulled the crop top over his head, and after a brief struggle with the shyness that had never <em>quite </em>gone away, got rid of his skirt and shorts too. They weren’t particularly well made – he’d made them out of hospital scrubs – but now he was shivering slightly, standing in the train car in nothing but his equally-shoddy underwear and feeling faintly like an idiot.</p><p>                Georgie looked him up and down in a way that didn’t feel <em>entirely </em>hands-off, and then with his smile just as bright as usual, began unlacing the stays. “Hands against the wall.”</p><p>                “You’re serious?”</p><p>                “Ay, la, stays are a <em>pain </em>to get on. Ye’ll be thankin’ me for na breakin’ ya ribs.”</p><p>                “…I have concerns!”</p><p>                “An’ I’m ignorin’ em for me own delight,” Georgie quipped back, pulling off his silk gloves and winding the stays around Will’s midsection. His fingers trailed over Will’s ribs with a faint touch that made Will shudder and bite his lip. That <em>had </em>to be an accident. Obviously. Georgie was… well, no, there was no way he was Jareth and Diana’s age. But he was older, full-grown. “Lucky you. Won’t need it too tight, not with a nice trim waist like ye got.” Georgie’s hand settled on Will’s hips, and this time it felt distinctly <em>less </em>like an accident, especially with Will’s palms braced on the wooden wall.</p><p>                Will bit his tongue, reminding himself to <em>behave. </em>They were in the <em>middle </em>of something. It would have been much easier, he sighed, if Selim had been reacting negatively instead of with the mental equivalent of eating popcorn. “I bet you do this all the time.”</p><p>                “Hmm. Wi’ the birds at the club, aye. Wi’ cuties like you, not so much.” The laces began to tighten, and Will’s breath hitched in his throat. That felt. <em>Weird. </em>“Ent’ as many boys who like this kinda thing as ye’d think, even in my line o’ work.”</p><p>                “Really? I thought most, uh…”</p><p>                “Rent boys?” Georgie offered with a <em>definite </em>cheerful note.</p><p>                “Uh – s-sex workers. Male sex workers?”</p><p>                “Oh, <em>fancy.” </em>Georgie tightened the laces some more, Will’s hands almost leaving the wall as he did. He couldn’t decide if it hurt or not. It felt… interesting. “Always just kinda leaned towards <em>whore, </em>meself.”</p><p>                “I thought most of ‘em would, y’know. Crossdress.”</p><p>                “Oh <em>no, </em>la. Plenty of men who hire us are lookin’ for <em>men. </em>I do a toucha both, but I like bein’ Georgiana. Feels different.”</p><p>                Georgie tightened the stays once more, and Will couldn’t help the little noise that fell from his mouth this time around. The constriction around his waist wasn’t the kind of thing he’d felt before, and it was – <em>uncomfortable, </em>sure, but between that and the hyperconsciousness of Georgie behind him –</p><p>                Will froze, hoping Georgie hadn’t noticed. Instead, the older boy leaned over him, the bodice of his dress brushing over Will’s bare back, and he whispered, “Feels ‘bout like that, too.” He gave the laces one last pull, tying them tight, and Will hid his burning face. Selim was… absolutely no help. Selim was so blitzed out, actually, that he almost lost Pinako in the crowd.</p><p>“Can y’ stand up alright?”</p><p>                <em>Maybe not, </em>Will thought agonizingly, but he had a little more self-control than that. He straightened up, wincing a little. It felt <em>weird. </em>“Are these… bones?”</p><p>                “Th’ antwacky ones are. These ones, prolly steel.”</p><p>                “Steel. Wow.” That was weird to think about. Will turned, trying to look over his shoulder at the laces, then winced. Okay, maybe not. “I’m not gonna be able to <em>fight </em>in this.”</p><p>                “Not without <em>practice, </em>nah. That’s all right, tha. ‘Twixt your alchemy stuff an’ Di and Jareth, y’ ent in no danger.”</p><p>                That was true. It still felt vulnerable. Plus, when Gracia had helped him with the other dress, it hadn’t been so… well…</p><p>                Georgie pushed him to sit down, then before Will could say anything else, he had a stocking in his hand. “Wh – I can – I can do <em>that </em>much!”</p><p>                “In stays?”</p><p>                Will reached forward. And promptly realized he couldn’t bend that far. “Son of a <em>bitch.</em> How do women get anything done?”</p><p>                “Eh, well…” Georgie’s hand slid down the back of Will’s flesh leg, sending another shiver through his chest. “It depends, la. Ladies like Di, well, they just dinna wear stays at all, ‘less they’re workin’.” He said it in such a casual voice, but Will couldn’t take his eyes off the way his hands slid down Will’s leg and over his bare feet, brushing the crud of the train-floor away before beginning to roll the silk stocking over his toes. “Others just get people to do things for them. Fetch them drinks, do their groceries, carry their bags…”</p><p>                There was no way Georgie couldn’t tell. Not down on his knees like that – but there also wasn’t a damn thing Will could do about it, especially as Georgie rolled the stocking over his knee. “Sounds –“ He couldn’t lie. Not this time. “I’d like that,” he said instead, snark falling away. “Shame I’m not rich,” he tried to joke, to break the sudden, thrumming tension in his chest. “Besides, who’d want to be a girl all the time?”</p><p>                “Mm.” Georgie didn’t respond right away, but he slid his hand up past where the stocking ended, warm fingers on Will’s thigh, before he pulled it back and retrieved the garter from next to him. “Not many boys around who keep their legs shaved.”</p><p>                “I’ve only got one. That helps.”</p><p>                “S’pose it does.” Georgie tied the garter, and his eyes flickered to Will’s crotch for a moment, grin increasing just a touch before he retrieved the other stocking. “You got a boyfriend?”</p><p>                “What makes you think it’s a boyfriend?”</p><p>                Georgie just raised a skeptical eyebrow.</p><p>                “Fine,” Will grumbled quietly. “That wasn’t going to work.”</p><p>                “Oh, birdie, dinna fuss <em>too </em>much. I lean both ways as it is, but I just had a feelin’.”</p><p>                <em>Birdie. </em>He’d picked up from context that ‘bird’ meant girl, so that just made him blush more. Everybody else in his life had just accepted that he was a Weird Guy, never really asked or dug too deep. Honestly, <em>he’d </em>thought that, too. This was new territory. He was still a <em>boy – </em>you couldn’t change biology – but he could be a pretty one, if he wanted.</p><p>                He blushed again, wondering if his face would ever be a normal colour again, when Georgie took just as much care with his automail leg. He’d almost thought Georgie would scoff at it – not that he’d given him that impression, but because, well. It was a prosthetic. It wasn’t <em>cute. </em>“I don’t, um –“ Shit. How <em>did </em>he talk about Selim? Especially when Selim was <em>listening. </em>“I don’t know if I have a… boyfriend, <em>exactly.</em>”</p><p>                “But there’s someone?”</p><p>                “Yeah.” Will fought the smile, but it showed up anyway – and the warm feeling in his chest.</p><p>                Which Selim was <em>perfectly </em>well aware of.</p><p>                <em>Die, </em>he shot at Selim, who just sent equally warm feelings back. So much for privacy and dignity. Although, admittedly… without the connection, he’d probably never actually get around to saying anything. He wasn’t particularly good at this kind of thing.</p><p>                Georgie was watching him, he realized, and the older boy finished tying the garter around his thigh, a soft look on his face. “I’m glad. But, hey, cutie like you – it ever don’ work out, won’t be short on options.”</p><p>                “Don’t make fun of me.”</p><p>                “Cross my heart.” Georgie got to his feet and trailed his hand over the dresses hung over the crates. “Pick a color, luv.”</p><p>                “…Purple.”</p><p>                “Purple it is. Stand on up, darlin’.”</p><p>                Will did so, and stepped into the dark-purple dress, feeling slightly ridiculous still – and his mind kept sticking on whether or not Georgie was propositioning him or just complimenting him. <em>Probably </em>the second. He was reading too much into things.</p><p>                <em>Will, dear, he was about two inches from-</em></p><p>
  <em>                Yes I know shut up I am talking myself out of bad decisions.</em>
</p><p><em>                Wow, talking yourself OUT of them? </em>Selim laughed – out <em>loud, </em>at that – and Will couldn’t wait until he could swat him in person. <em>That’s new.</em></p><p>…Selim had a point. He pulled the sleeves up his arms, taking in the texture of this dress versus the other one. Then, to his surprise, Georgie fastened a belt around his waist from behind. “The stays aren’t <em>enough?</em>”</p><p>“This is for the <em>aesthetic, </em>birdie.” He fastened the buckle from behind, then started doing up the buttons. His face was close enough to the back of Will’s neck for him to feel every breath, and <em>motherfucker, </em>he did this for a living, he <em>had </em>to know what he was doing –</p><p>Ah.</p><p>His hair.</p><p>Will felt his good mood start to putter. “Um – Georgie?”</p><p>“Yeah?”</p><p>“What are we going to do about my hair?”</p><p>“Hmm. Clean it up some in the back. Ye make a nice blonde, but if ye pick another color I’d go wi’ black.”</p><p>“But… it’s <em>short.</em>”</p><p>“Eh, plenny of gals have short hair these days. It’s a new century!”</p><p>“Are – are you sure?”</p><p>“Course, luv. T’ain’t like I got tresses down my back, do I?”</p><p>That was true. Will looked down at the dress, a little giddy feeling in his chest. Then Georgie nestled a hat on his head, and offered him a set of gloves. “Magic us up a mirror, luv.”</p><p>“It’s not <em>magic,</em>” he sighed. But he could do that. He pressed his hands to the wall, pulling molecules apart and spinning them back together, until there was a glass surface reflecting –</p><p>Oh.</p><p>Will pulled his hands back, startled. When he was getting ready for the gala, back in Central, he’d had a moment of… <em>dislocation, </em>looking in the mirror. It hadn’t lasted too long; he’d been so nervous, reminding himself of dance steps and working past the miserable, background storm of anger that Alex’s departure had left. But he remembered how it had felt.</p><p>It was the same thing now. If anything, stronger. Was that him in the mirror? He didn’t even have any makeup on yet.  But the broad-brimmed hat curved down just enough, hid the rushed cut of his hair while still letting the gold color shine against the dark floral arrangement perched on top of it. The dress’s high collar paired with the stays meant he almost – if you looked <em>closely, </em>sure, his chest was flat, but you had to pay attention. And it just meant he looked young. Even the detailing around the shoulders meant he didn’t feel so much like his shoulders were too broad, or that his prosthetics were so obvious-</p><p>The girl in the mirror started to cry. It was <em>stupid. </em>He’d been through so much shit lately. This wasn’t anything to cry about – he lowered his head, but Georgie leaned over his shoulder, lifting his chin back to look at his reflection. “Don’t look away, love. How long’ve ye fought that down?”</p><p>Will didn’t want to answer, because he didn’t like that Georgie <em>knew. </em>He wanted to be angry, that Georgie was watching him cry at his own reflection, and he wasn’t surprised, he wasn’t shocked, he wasn’t – He wiped the tears away. “I don’t… This is <em>silly.</em>”</p><p>“Nothin’ silly about it. That beaut Fuhrer, all of his fuckin’ tin soldiers, every one of ‘em – fuck ‘em, righ’? Cause they can’t take away how you feel right now.” Georgie rested his chin on Will’s shoulder, watching his face in the mirror. “Also, <em>damn, </em>you’re good-lookin’.”</p><p>Will turned his head away from the mirror, towards Georgie. He could do it. He was brave enough. All he had to do was lean forward and kiss him. Their faces were so close together.</p><p>He lowered his head, still smiling, but –</p><p>But not <em>quite </em>brave enough. Not yet.</p><p>“Thanks,” he murmured.</p><p>“Aye, don’t thank me yet. Time to teach ye how to do make-up. An’ ye got alla thirty minutes to learn, so ye best look sharp.”</p><hr/><p>Diana had been so focused on her transmutations that she’d barely been looking up at Jareth and Davidson. When she was finished with them, however (several small daggers, which kept reminding her of Maes, which kept her angry, which was good), she looked up to Jareth snorting with laughter and staring at the shirt that Will had transmuted for him.</p><p>“Is there a problem?”</p><p>“He can fix it in about two seconds. Just, he was clearly looking at Georgie at the time.” He showed her, and she tried <em>so hard – </em>but even she wasn’t in bad enough of a mood not to laugh. There was only one arm.</p><p>“Okay, well, is everything else working?” she asked.</p><p>“I got the identity down. Cipriano Li.”</p><p>“…Isn’t that a little on the nose?”</p><p>Jareth shrugged. With his shirt off, she couldn’t help but look at the injury in his side – mostly, but still not entirely healed. “How many people do you think have actually <em>seen </em>Country Rose? Let alone remember it well enough.”</p><p>She supposed that was fair.</p><p>“What about you?”</p><p>Diana blew out her cheeks, feeling so exhausted that she wanted to go to sleep and just… not wake up. But she had a name. “Olivia James.”</p><p>“…Olivia? Really?”</p><p>“I had to remember it somehow,” she defended, but Jareth just seemed <em>amused. </em>She… didn’t <em>miss </em>Olivier, exactly. But she missed what their relationship could have been. “…Do you think we’ll ever stop?”</p><p>Jareth didn’t ask what she meant. He knew perfectly well. How many times in their lives had they changed names, or shifted details about their identities? She’d been born Laura Kwan, but Kwan Faa Bin was a second name, a secret name; and then she’d been Diana Solaris, and in Ishval, she’d been Spark. And now, here they both were again. Olivia James and Cipriano Li. Right.</p><p>“Eventually,” he replied after a little while. “Only problem is, I dunno which name I’ll end up settlin’ down with in the end.”</p><p>He was joking, she knew that much. He <em>liked </em>being Jareth. Her, on the other hand – she’d never gotten comfortable with any of them. And the trick was –</p><p>The trick was, she thought, and kept to herself, was that she could picture a happy ending, but she couldn’t picture herself in it.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Arsonist's Lullabye</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>TW: sexual assault aftermath, pregnancy (result of the latter), crisis of faith/religion, illness/disease, wartime conditions + trauma, genocide trauma, misogyny, self-harm, gore, internalized……. Uh, tags are hard but misogyny?? Kind of?? Dysphoria + long term trans trauma + just…..really, really bad coping. Really bad.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I kept thinking Rose was going to show up again sooner than this! While I’m drawing a lot on 2003 for results, how Lior actually went is a bit of a combo of BH and 03; I actually like the image of Rose drawing a gun on Will, and it seems more likely for her to do it to Will than Ed. (Will doesn’t do the cute charming thing very well.) For those who don’t remember why Rose and Juliet know each other, I refer you alllll the way back to Chapter 30 of Hero of the People.</p><p>Shei-thodekya haima marn’shaivu is some more conlang – shei-thodekya means ‘the healer’, haima is an interrogative marker, and marn’shaivu is ‘to be’, second person singular, so ‘you are’. Shei-thodekya marn’shaivu would mean ‘you are the healer’, whereas thodekya haima marn’shaivu would mean ‘Are you a healer?’. Haima is both an interrogative particle in general – it gets used kind of like ‘huh?’ or ‘what?’ – and a marker of an interrogative mood, so it flips anything into being a question. There are also more specific interrogative markers for where/when/why, etc. but haima is the all-purpose one.</p><p>Sheng rou (although I’ve skipped the tones this time around) roughly translates to ‘raw meat’, and is what Lust calls Envy as a nasty little joke about him being “half-made”.</p><p>Song is by Hozier.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>~4~</p><p>
  <em>When I was a man I thought it ended<br/>When I knew love's perfect ache<br/>But my peace has always depended<br/>On all the ashes in my wake</em>
</p><p>-<strong><em>Arsonist’s Lullabye</em></strong></p><p> </p><p>                God had abandoned her.</p><p>                Rose didn’t know how to feel about it, either. That was the terrible part. When she woke up, she found herself lying on the straw pallet in the ruins of her church, staring up at the sky visible through the cracked holes, and wondering what the final blow had been. Was it that she had kept up the lie, tried to heal a division through subterfuge? She had known that the new Father Cornello was an impostor. She had hoped, perhaps, it would work anyway.</p><p>                Perhaps it had been when she’d pointed the gun at the Fullmetal Alchemist. It had been an impulsive moment, hardly a fraction of a second before she’d dropped it, unable to stomach the thought. Or perhaps the moment of weakness afterwards, when she’d wanted to die, apathy taking over when she realized there was no hope. She’d relied on another’s strength to lift her to her feet, Will’s metal hand in hers pulling her upright. He hadn’t said anything else – which interested her. Throughout the few days he’d been in Lior, Fullmetal had been the kind of person who never shut up. Yet in that moment, he’d just been almost unbearably quiet – and it was probably for the best.</p><p>                Or perhaps, less charitably, her God had been less kind, less forgiving than she thought. The child in her stomach wasn’t kicking or moving around yet, but she could feel him forming anyway, in the thickening of her hips, the swelling of her breasts, the aching in her chest. The doctrines of Leto forbade sex outside marriage, and while others dismissed it, she’d abided by it, even with Kain. And shouldn’t this have been an exception? Was God so harsh to ignore her <em>now? </em></p><p>                Rose closed her eyes, the sun burning her eyelids as it rose. Selfish. She was being selfish again. There were people in the outer foyer of the church who needed help. It didn’t matter if she knew that nothing about her or this place was blessed anymore. They believed it. They needed to believe it.</p><p>                So she got to her feet. She pulled the draping linen over her head, wrapped another length of cloth over her head and around her shoulders. It was more traditional clothing, the kind of thing you expected from Ishvalans, but it also meant that nobody could see the beginning swell of her stomach. She was sure somebody would begin a rumor that it was Cornello’s, and that was the last thing she needed. She hung the sun symbol around her neck, and – not for the first time, and not for the last – wondered what she would do when it was impossible to hide what had happened.</p><p>                She’d get there in her own time.</p><p>                Rose opened the door from the small side room that she had as her own, and stepped out into what had once been the great hall of Leto. Will had put the statue back where it belonged, but now the stone was riddled with bullet-marks, the hand by its side gone; she was just glad it hadn’t been destroyed. All the pews were gone too, stolen as barricades. In their place were pallets and blankets.</p><p>                She looked over the crowd of people. Smaller than yesterday; that was good, she thought. Some people were going to other cities, trying to start over somewhere that didn’t bear the marks of war. Others, she knew, simply slunk off in the night to die somewhere less obtrusive. Those she mourned, even before she found them in the alleyways, half covered by sand. Others were attempting to reconstruct the houses in better repair, but that hadn’t been going well so far.</p><p>                But…</p><p>                Smaller also didn’t mean anything about the health of the people <em>here. </em>Not everyone here was sick or injured, but enough were that it was a house of healing more than anything else. They prayed to Leto, and Rose supplemented it with guesswork and the little bit of medicine that she’d picked up. But there were things she couldn’t cure.</p><p>                She knelt down by one bedside, and pressed the back of her hand to the little boy’s forehead. The fever hadn’t gone down, and she looked questioningly up at his mother.</p><p>                “He kept down some water yesterday,” the woman replied. “But I don’t know what to feed him.”</p><p>                That was the problem. Batan hadn’t kept <em>anything </em>down, vomiting up anything more than water – and there wasn’t enough food for Rose to keep giving it to him, but she wasn’t going to starve a child to death either. Then again –</p><p>                Rose put her hand to his neck. Batan had just woken up, but his heart rate was rapid and fluttering against her fingers. Malaria? Dengue? Or just starvation? She didn’t know. She didn’t <em>know, </em>because she wasn’t trained for this, and she was all that was left.</p><p>                “Is he going to survive?”</p><p>                <em>I don’t know. </em>She had the words in her mouth, she was trying to say them. And as always, her throat wouldn’t work.</p><p>                “You don’t know?”</p><p>                She nodded in relief as Minatya filled in what Rose had been trying to tell her, and hurriedly got to her feet before the tears started to show.</p><p>                There <em>were </em>new people. Two by the entrance; a man sitting crosslegged by the pallet, his hands moving, and a girl lying on the pallet, clearly half-asleep, watching him-</p><p>                Rose stopped, halfway to them. They were <em>talking. </em>She’d seen sign language before, just… It had been so long ago. And it’d been so long before she’d ever thought, perhaps, she’d need it. Even now, part of her rebelled against the idea. She <em>could </em>talk. She just had some sort of mental block against it. Sign language was for people who couldn’t <em>hear – </em>entirely different. But still, she was curious.</p><p>                She approached them, and waved gently, hoping it would prompt them to introduce themselves. If, she realized as her smile flagged a little, they could in a way she’d understand.</p><p>                “Shei-thodekya haima marn’shaivu?” he asked, his voice a little lighter than she’d expected from somebody so <em>big. </em></p><p>                …Rose blinked in surprise. First, the man could speak – which was <em>good. </em>But second of all, he’d spoken in Ishvalan. She – well. She wasn’t <em>supposed </em>to know Ishvalan. But she recognized more of it than she thought she would. Back in her grandmother’s generation, Liorans had spoken something other than Amestrian, and it had just sort of faded out of use, especially after the war. Zureshval? Something like that. She’d never cared to learn it, but she supposed some of it had stuck in her head from her grandmother after all. Haima… that was a question, she thought. Her grandmother had used it when she was confused – <em>haima, haima? </em>And thodekya…</p><p>                She was interrupted by him switching languages. “Are you the healer?”</p><p>                She flushed in embarrassment, and nodded. Most people spoke Amestrian – she’d just been so taken aback by the Ishvalan that she hadn’t thought about it.</p><p>                “This girl needs help. She’s been treated some, but she keeps reopening her wounds. If you can keep her here a while, I would be very grateful.”</p><p>                Rose’s heart sank. She wanted to say yes. She wanted to, <em>so badly. </em>Without even meaning to, she glanced back at the rest of the church. People with infected wounds, gunshot and bayonet injuries, alongside cases of malaria and what she dreaded might be cholera or typhoid.</p><p>                The Ishvalan stranger had followed her eyes, and when she looked back at him, she didn’t see any judgement in his steady gaze. “How bad is it?”</p><p>                Rose knelt down by the girl on the pallet, and shrugged. She couldn’t respond without her words – but apparently that said plenty.</p><p>                “I see. I saw some of it on the way in. I’m sorry.”</p><p>                <em>That </em>made her back prickle. From an Amestrian (and when had she really stopped thinking of herself as part of Amestris?) she might have found it condescending, or pitying. Certainly from the false Cornello – who’d trod dangerously close to it – she’d been tempted into near-violence. But from an Ishvalan man…</p><p>                “I imagine,” he said with a lowered voice, “this would be much easier to handle if the soldiers weren’t still here.”</p><p>                And there it was. The thing she’d been trying to avoid, almost <em>glad </em>of the loss of her voice so that she didn’t have to discuss it with her (patients? refugees? worshippers?). The Amestrian military hadn’t left. Their camp was still on the outskirts of Lior, still fully-staffed, just <em>waiting. </em>The thought suddenly crossed her mind that-</p><p>                “Don’t worry,” he said, voice not calming, exactly, but firm and steady. “They didn’t see me.”</p><p>                She hated that she’d even worried about it. But sheltering an Ishvalan would be the final excuse the military needed to wipe the rest of them out. Even if… god. He looked so much <em>healthier </em>than everyone else here. Healthy, and strong, and not hovering on the edge of the grave-</p><p>                She’d stopped the tears once already, and she managed it again. She was fine. Besides, she wasn’t going to turn away a patient, even if there was nothing she could really do. The girl was about Rose’s age, maybe a little older, with dark-brown hair and delicate eyelashes that clashed with the obvious scarring and wounds on her face, her hands – god. She’d been tortured. Somewhere in between Rose coming over and now, she’d almost completely passed out, stirring slightly as Rose took her temperature.</p><p>                She began to unbutton the girl’s collar, trying to get a better angle to measure her pulse with her fingers. There was something on a chain around her neck, and she pulled it loose –</p><p>                The hamsa sat in her dusky palm, the eye in its center gazing lidlessly up at her.</p><p>                <em>Her </em>hamsa.</p><p>                She’d given it away. She’d given it to-</p><p>                <em>She knew this girl.</em></p><p>The name burst from her lips before she even realized she’d said it out loud. “<em>Juliet?</em>” Then she brought her hands to her mouth, like she was trying to stuff it back in, like she had broken a seal –</p><p>                The tears weren’t going to stop this time. And worse, everybody could hear her, the wails of grief ripping out of her throat and echoing off of the empty rafters, finally set loose after so, so long of being silenced. It was stupid. It was <em>so </em>stupid, but she’d thought at least – at least one person, in the end, was safe.</p><hr/><p>                If Pride had been in a better mood to appreciate the irony, he would have <em>loved </em>how Greed – the one teaching Wrath to keep her temper in check and never respond or react – had torn his office to shreds. Not just his office. At least one of the staff for the Fuhrer’s office lay on the ground, neck broken; Pride imagined he would just be quietly disappeared and nobody would ask too many questions.</p><p>                Still, he was about as angry – and on top of that, it was one thing to make fun of Greed when things were normal. But Greed didn’t normally slaughter people out of rage, or tear holes in his office walls. He was all about keeping the face on, to the point where he almost seemed to enjoy the human disguise more than acknowledging that he was anything other. So – well – Pride was <em>concerned, </em>he supposed was the word.                               </p><p>“Three people,” he seethed at Pride “I want <em>three people </em>dead.”</p><p>                “We need Fullmetal alive,” he replied – and jumped as a blue fist slammed into the wall.</p><p>                “Fine! Two people dead and one <em>incapacitated. </em>As long as he can move his arms I do not care what else happens to him.” It was hard to think of Greed as Mustang at the moment. He hadn’t even reassembled his uniform, locked in his office and taking out his fury on whatever he could find. He’d been giving his orders, sure – by phone and by radio – and the shield hadn’t lowered past his neck, whether by choice or by instinct Pride couldn’t tell.</p><p>                And, for once, Pride couldn’t blame him. The firing squad members had fled. Nobody would <em>believe </em>them – that Fuhrer Roy Mustang had turned into a monster with blue skin and glowing red eyes – but it was another complication. And, more concerningly, Amue Armstrong had vanished. She wasn’t with her family. She wasn’t at her home. She wasn’t anywhere. She was probably in the same place as Sheska Thomas. The protests had turned into riots, with twenty civilians dead and at least two soldiers. And William Elric, Jareth Valjean and Diana Solaris were <em>nowhere </em>to be found.</p><p>                Mustang sat down on his desk, squeezing his fist threateningly. “Tell me you’re bringing me good news.”</p><p>                “It’s not really news. The patient’s alive, but isn’t in any state to tell us anything. He’ll need medical help around the clock, and probably extreme measures.”</p><p>                “Lovely. And I suppose you’ll tell me I’m overreacting.” There was a defensiveness to Mustang’s words that Pride wasn’t used to.</p><p>                He leaned against the wall facing Mustang, chewing over his words carefully. “I’m… curious, admittedly. Why all of this trouble over Valjean and Solaris? Elric, sure. But you and Lust weren’t close.” <em>If anybody should be going after them like this, </em>he added internally with a sour twist in his stomach, <em>it should be me. </em></p><p>                “They know how to kill a homunculus. I don’t know how.”</p><p>                “It could have been chance. There’s a difference between knowing how to kill <em>one </em>of us, and knowing the specifics-“</p><p>                “Diana Solaris just melted bullets in mid-air, had her protégé connive his way out of the <em>most secure ward </em>of the hospital, and used a protest for cover which has now turned into a <em>riot,</em>” he shot back, voice rising. “I’m not giving her an <em>inch.</em> Most humans wouldn’t be able to figure out our weaknesses, find them and use them. Most humans aren’t this <em>fucking bitch.</em>”</p><p>                You know what? That was fair. Pride shifted against the wall, still deep in thought. Mustang… wasn’t like this. He wasn’t the angry one. Spiteful, sure. Sadistic. And Pride had seen him get nasty before.</p><p>                “Did you have something to do with this?” Mustang snarled at him, suddenly, and Pride recoiled in horror.</p><p>                “<em>What? </em>Jesus christ, Greed-“ Then he stopped. Of course Mustang would think that. If there was an opportunity to make Mustang’s life harder, he’d take it. He’d nearly fucked up everything with Alex over some spiteful joke at Mustang, and – well, it was all well and good to try keep Will away from Mustang, but especially after talking to Dante, he was wondering if he shouldn’t just have kept away from the whole thing. His ‘standards’ had just made everything worse for everybody. “No,” he said after a moment. “And I’ll help you fix it.”</p><p>                “Right. You’ve been such a font of good advice and support-“</p><p>                “Greed.”</p><p>                “What now? Some jab about Hawkeye? Or perhaps you’d like to set me up as a villain to our <em>next </em>sibling?”</p><p>                It was interesting, Pride thought with a sudden rush of guilt. Mustang stayed away from the others. He wasn’t friendly with <em>anybody </em>but Hawkeye; he and Lust had been on nodding terms, but he and Sloth only tolerated each other enough to work together, and he’d picked up the nasty little nickname for Envy from Lust – <em>sheng rou – </em>which tanked any possibility of friendship there. He doubted that the relationship between Mustang and Gluttony would have gone any better if Gluttony had stuck around long enough for anybody to form an opinion. It was easy enough to brush it off with a snarl that Mustang had done it to himself, but at the same time – well, no wonder Mustang was frustrated about Alex.</p><p>                “I didn’t know you cared so much.”</p><p>                “I don’t. I just think it’s rich for you to claim you’re so much <em>better </em>than I am when you set this into motion to begin with, <em>Dr. Holland.</em>”</p><p>                If his mind had been on a different track, maybe Pride would have risen to the bait. But as it was, he recognized it <em>as </em>bait. Instead, he studied Mustang’s face, thought about how much Diana Solaris – <em>specifically </em>Diana – was bothering him, and sighed internally, trying to release the pressure inside of him. Easier said than done. But grudges were on his mind anyway.</p><p>                “I don’t hate you,” he said.</p><p>                “How lovely,” Mustang snorted, hopping off the desk. “The weight is off my shoulders already.”</p><p>                “I’m sorry.”</p><p>                “I don’t want your apologies, I want you to fix this <em>mess.</em>”</p><p>                “Okay. What do you need?”</p><p>                <em>That </em>was what got him a reaction. Mustang glanced up at him, raising an eyebrow. No emotional response or expression, no – he hadn’t been expecting one. But he wasn’t getting some sort of smug smirk either. “…And, pray tell, where is <em>this </em>Pride coming from?”</p><p>                “I know you hate it when anybody points out your age, but honestly, I need to remind myself sometimes. That you’re young.”</p><p>                “I’m in my nineties. That’s hardly young.”</p><p>                “And I’ve been around for four centuries,” Pride replied. “I <em>probably </em>should help you more and snark at you a little less.”</p><p>                Mustang didn’t respond, crossing his arms and returning Pride’s look with a suspicious gaze. “And if I don’t trust your sudden burst of familial tenderness?”</p><p>                “Then don’t trust it. But hear me out first.”</p><p>                “Nothing’s stopping you. Go right ahead.”</p><p>                “We need to track down Solaris, Fullmetal and Valjean. We <em>also </em>need to get our patient back into working order.” Then Pride grinned. “I got an idea on how to do both.”</p><p>                Two birds, one stone – and Mustang looked intrigued. “…I’m listening.”</p><p>                The funniest part was, Hawkeye probably wasn’t going to believe them.</p><hr/><p>                Nobody had said that he was <em>grounded, </em>but as Alex finally hit the stage of his captivity where he was bored enough to count the amount of tiles on the ceiling, he figured this must be what it was like. He had read almost all the books now, and he mostly just… He wanted company. He’d even talk to Pride. Maybe.</p><p>                That was part of the problem, he thought with a groan. The longer he was in here, the more confused he got. He kept doubting his own memories – what <em>had </em>Pride actually told him? What had actually happened between him and Will? He remembered being angry. How much of that had been stuff Envy had told him? How much was just his own resentment boiling over? Had he said to Envy that he thought Will was abusive, or had Envy said it? He couldn’t even make himself think of Envy as <em>Alphonse – </em>because then he started thinking about whether or not he should trust Al, and he thought about Al’s lips on his, and that was a terrible way to make decisions, but he wanted… he wanted <em>something. </em>Something stable. Something to work off of.</p><p>                Maybe he <em>would </em>listen to Hawkeye, he thought bitterly. What was he getting out of being in a room on his own? He had a body. He might as well use it. And he didn’t think anybody was appreciating his great ethical stance on… whatever it was he was taking an ethical stance on. Not down here underground, and certainly not when the last time he’d seen Will he’d practically drowned him.</p><p>                Not his fault. But, not really <em>not </em>his fault either.</p><p>                <em>This is so exhausting. </em>Dante kept lying to him, but then all the lies felt like they were real, and he was sure some of them were. He believed her about Izumi, for one. That one made too much sense. And-</p><p>                God.</p><p>                <em>I know what it’s like to be the second string. </em>That was one of the memories that remained clear as day, shining through all the mud surrounding it. <em>Whether they’re ordering you about like a slave or simply forgetting you exist. </em></p><p>                He wasn’t going to think about that, because he was going to trick himself into liking Dante again, and he wouldn’t, he <em>wouldn’t, </em>not when she was wearing a stolen face-</p><p>                <em>You don’t know it’s stolen.</em></p><p>Of course it was fucking stolen. He didn’t believe her that it was an accident.</p><p>                <em>Don’t you? A little bit?</em></p><p>Too much thinking. Hawkeye, at least, had been straight with him. She hadn’t tried to talk circles around him. She’d been clear, and even acknowledged that there were things she wouldn’t tell him. And she’d said his anger was a weapon. Maybe that would help clear his head.</p><p>                Alex stood up, closed his eyes, and tried not to feel silly. Even now, after having had this body for a while, everything still <em>felt </em>like so much. The aging carpet under his feet was scratchy and uncomfortable; the slightly-musty, stale air didn’t bother him but felt heavy on his skin, and the small clock on top of the bookcase marked the seconds with asynchronous, marginally-slowing tick-tocks.</p><p>                He wouldn’t have been able to tell that, before. That the clock was slow, and that the seconds it marked out were getting longer with each beat. He held his breath for a moment, listening to the clock, and then to the surge of blood within his body. It wasn’t <em>quite </em>a heartbeat, but it was close enough.</p><p>                <em>What am I capable of, now? </em>He hadn’t pushed it. Not really.</p><p>                Getting angry should be easy enough.</p><p>
  <em>                Pride lied to me-</em>
</p><p>And immediately, Alex saw instead the look Pride had given him right after Alex had transmuted him, almost <em>hurt – </em>and Pride had sought him out, hadn’t he? What had Hawkeye said? Pride probably believed it himself, that the way Will treated him wasn’t okay, that he was – was – was, what, doing Alex a favour?</p><p>                But being seen. Being seen at <em>all.</em></p><p><em>                I’m too confused to be angry, </em>Alex thought with a sulk. And trying to get angry at Will was just going to go the same way. Even just thinking about it superimposed Will yelling at him, their fight (the words long gone by now, only the feelings left) and the last time he’d actually talked to him, over a smaller version of him, bloodless and sick, lying in bed after the transmutation and trying to convince himself to stay alive. There were more, too; Will bleeding out from his wrist and then getting up the next morning, giving Alex that <em>fucking smile </em>like everything was fine, like something wasn’t clearly, terribly wrong.</p><p>                Alex almost flinched away from the memories. They felt so much <em>stronger, </em>now. So much closer. At the time, he’d just sort of – barely processed them. They’d happened, and he’d dealt with them, dull and sullen resentment building up in his chest. And then in that last fight, the ghost of a girl he’d never been had shown up between them. Will hadn’t said his old name. Hadn’t had to. It echoed on repeat in the back of his head, sometimes, because what kind of kid threw out the name that his mother gave him when she wasn’t around anymore –</p><p>                He gripped the bedpost to steady himself. What was <em>wrong </em>with him? He’d thought about this stuff for years. It had bothered him, sure. Not everybody had gone along with him wanting to be a boy. But…</p><p>                Being a doll had numbed him. And he’d been that angry, angry enough to scream at Will, <em>when he was a doll. </em></p><p>                He wasn’t angry at Will. He was angry, period. Because girls were supposed to take <em>care </em>of people, weren’t they? So he’d never thought fucking twice about it! He’d stayed quiet and never said a thing, because that was what girls were supposed to do, and he’d never done more than complain here and there about being overlooked, because he was a doll, and it wasn’t <em>their </em>fault, and he’d never thought about how maybe a real boy wouldn’t have put up with that –</p><p>                Maybe they would have. Maybe if their places had been switched Will would have been just as tolerant of it.</p><p>                Yeah.</p><p>                <em>Bullshit.</em></p><p>The bedpost snapped in his hand. One hand, and he’d snapped solid wood in half.</p><p>                Dante was probably lying about a lot of things. <em>Definitely, </em>actually. But she’d been right about one thing – when she’d been talking about being second string, second best, ignored, overlooked. He <em>was </em>better than them. He was <em>allowed </em>to be selfish. He’d – he’d earned it. That was what Hawkeye had done, too. She’d been ruthless, and carved her name in blood into the world, and <em>shown </em>them what she could do, with the right power.</p><p>                <em>What do you want?</em></p><p>Hawkeye had been wrong about something, he realized – and a giggle burst out of his mouth. He stifled it with one hand, almost horrified. The urge was still there. Hawkeye had said his anger was a weapon. But all he’d wanted, <em>all he’d wanted, </em>was to be angry. He’d kept trying to suppress it.</p><p>                What was he capable of? How far could he push himself? What <em>did </em>he want?</p><p>                He pressed his hands together, then to the broken bed post, splinters fusing with his fingers, cellulose and resin turning his nails into claws. Then he drove the claws into the flesh of his arm, pulling it aside until he could see the tendons and bones, muscles and sinew moving as he clenched and unclenched his fist. Red liquid that wasn’t quite blood dripped and beaded down his arm, falling off of his elbow in an unsteady stream, but not as much as he had expected. Already, there were sparks appearing, his body fixing the damage where it could.</p><p>                With a flash of <em>blue </em>light, the splinters dropped out of his hand, and onto the floor. Easy enough.</p><p>                He wanted more.</p><p>                There was a small statue on the bookshelf; a bronze casting of some goddess or another, but when he picked it up and looked underneath, Alex found that the interior was stone. Good enough. He pressed his hands to it, and almost <em>breathed </em>it in. Copper and tin, aluminum, zinc – and just a <em>hint </em>of arsenic. Just enough for his nostrils to flare and the sparks of alchemy running through his skin to flare. Nothing, really, compared to the Red Water in his veins. Silica and potassium.</p><p>                Then the statue that was Alex lifted himself from the ground, stone and copper moving like skin and muscle, rippling and bending. Dante would stop him before he got far, of course. But he knew a test when he saw one.</p><p>                He drove his fist into the plaster wall with enough force for the floor beneath his feet to crack. A mad grin spread over his face, purple eyes gleaming – and the plaster rained down on him like bone-dust, when he brought his fist back and hit the wall again.</p><p>                Nobody had ever told him how good power felt.</p>
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